


try and hit the spot (get to know it in the dark)

by cherryvanilla



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: “Shaking like a ladder to the sun.”  Or, in which Eames attends a passion party and Arthur is terribly distracted.  Written for Cherrybina’s Ass Worship Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	try and hit the spot (get to know it in the dark)

Arthur hears the words but doesn’t really process them. Not until Eames says, “It’s just been so _long_ ,” and then he’s turning to where Eames and Ariadne are talking on lawn chairs, casually straddling them.

“You’re going where?’

Ariadne’s eyebrow arches and she gives Arthur a look that conveys, ‘you are so not subtle’ in the way only she can.

Eames just smirks at him. “Tsk, tsk. It’s terribly rude to eavesdrop, Arthur.”

Arthur bites down on the inside of his bottom lip, indignantly, and moves to turn back to the dry erase board but Eames’ next words stop him. “But because you’re terribly attractive when nosey, I’ll tell you. Ariadne here is hosting a passion party and I shall be attending.’

Arthur nearly swallows his tongue and tries not to think of Eames’ prior words that are still buzzing through his mind, suddenly taking on a whole new connotation. “Um. Aren’t those for… women?”

Ariadne gives him another one of her looks. This time it says, ‘oh my god you’re so archaic.’

“Or men whose arse needs some loving. And if you must know, Arthur, mine does. Now, if you’ll be so kind to work out the schematics of this job, Ariadne and I will finish ironing out our own details.’

Arthur knows he’s blushing and his skin suddenly feels too tight for his body. So he, for once, listens to Eames and turns back to his work. Of course he can’t ignore their rising laughter or the way Eames purrs, “Can’t wait to replace my Dinger Dong,” in a dreamy, faraway voice. Arthur nearly chokes on his own tongue, again. He never realized it was such a dangerous muscle.

____________________________

The passion party is the next night. Arthur complains this is no time for a party as there’s planning to be done. Ariadne says just because Cobb isn’t around doesn’t make him boss to which Arthur counters that’s exactly what it makes him. They are not, in fact, five years old. Eames watches them with an amused expression and then pauses, with his hand on the warehouse door. “Sure you wouldn’t like to come, darling? You seem a touch slighted.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Eames. Just be here on time tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” Eames murmurs, voice silky smooth and then he’s gone.

That night Arthur does not dream of Eames fucking himself with a dildo, arching his hips off the mattress and moaning Arthur’s name. He also doesn’t wake up sticky in his own come. These are not things that happen.

The next day Arthur cannot deny, even to himself that he’s searching for telltale signs of Eames walking stiff; he can almost picture the toy he must have slid into his ass. But Eames is all smiles and jovial movement, with no signs off discomfort. He said it’d been a while, Arthur thinks to himself. And then he thinks of Eames being such a slut that he can take whatever he’s given and fuck if that doesn’t get him half hard.

Ariadne, of course, chooses today to speak with her words rather than her eyes. “You know… just the orders are taken at the party. Nothing arrives until at least 6 days or so.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur says, hunched over his moleskin and pretending not to watch Eames’ ass while he stands on the other end of the room, talking to Yusuf.

“Of course you don’t," is all she says and mumbles something about ‘ridiculous fucking men.’ Arthur wishes she’d revert back to non-verbal communication.

__________________________

 

“So, how was the party?” he asks, as nonchalant as he can muster but even his poker face can’t fool someone as intuitive as Eames. Arthur wants to wipe that smirk off his face, preferably with his lips.

They’re standing in front of Arthur’s workspace, just the two of them in the dim lights while Arthur shrugs into his coat.

“Smashing, really, you should have joined.”

He makes a noise of disinterest. “Not really my thing.” He fiddles with his collar until he notices Eames hasn’t responded. When he looks up, Eames is staring at him in disbelief.

“Pardon me, darling, but I know your desires do not lean toward the fairer sex.”

Arthur wants to glare at him, but he can’t ignore a history of being too open in his relationships and Eames sitting around in bars after late prep jobs with Dom and Mal while Arthur’s guy of the moment showed up to take him home.

“Forgive my lack of specificity. I meant to say I prefer to top.”

He forces himself to look into Eames’ eyes as he says the words, refusing to be the vulnerable party in this situation. What he doesn’t expect is the flare of heat and hint of surprise settling in Eames’ gaze. “Do you now?”

Eames’ tone is the worst kind of filthy, the kind of filthy that Arthur wants to crawl inside and not escape from, or just turn Eames against the desk and push him down and climb on top of him.

Arthur tries to keep his gaze unwavering and his voice steady when he dryly responds, “Glad I could say something to surprise you, Mr. Eames.”

Eames leans in close, bracing his arm on the edge of the desk and crowding into Arthur’s space. “I love it when you call me that, did you know?”

Arthur clears his throat. Suddenly his tie is too tight and the air is stagnant. He reminds himself this is how Eames is, how he’s always been. There’s always flirting without follow through so why should it now be different.

“I don’t keep track of your likes and dislikes,” Arthur snaps, taking a step backward.

Eames’ eyes shutter automatically, his easy flirting smile morphing into a pinched, angry line.

“Perhaps you should do,” he says, voice tight, and walks away briskly. Arthur tells himself it’s for the best; tells himself he doesn’t feel hollow. He thinks about Eames’ eyes that night and doesn’t sleep.

_______________________________

Things are so tense between them over the course of the next week that Arthur almost forgets to keep his eyes, literally, on Eames’ ass. This is why one morning when he’s settling down with his coffee, and looking at his watch he almost acquires third degree burns. Eames strides in the door, body held stiffly. He’s walking normally but Arthur knows. He knows because he’s looking for it, knows because it’s the way he’s held himself the times he’d been fucked. Jealously automatically surges through his body at the thought of it being a person instead of the toy; Eames spread out on his stomach, ass in the air and fucking begging for it, begging for someone who isn’t Arthur to ride him hard, fill him up and bruise him. Arthur snaps his pencil in half with one hand, startling both himself and Eames.

“S’wrong with you, then?” Eames asks. His tone is biting and angry and Arthur’s had enough.

“Mr. Eames, a word.”

Eames’ eyes flair. “You do, in fact realize you’re not actually my boss and I am not a bloody child.”

Arthur just turns on his heel and walks toward the bathrooms at the back of the warehouse, knowing Eames will follow. He’s washing his hands just to have something to do, and has counted to 72 when Eames throws the door open with a loud bang and stalks up behind him.

“What the fuck, Arthur, you bloody _infuriating_ …”

Arthur turns sharply, catching a glimpse of Eames’ fiery expression before slamming him against the wall near the faucets.

Eames’ body goes tense against him, his shoulders coming up to Arthur’s shoulders but he doesn’t push away. Arthur watches the adrenaline morph into something dark and heady.

“How’d it feel?” he asks a breath away from Eames’ lips. “Fucking yourself with that toy?” He hears the quick intake of breath and nearly melts as Eames’ fingers flex on his shoulder blades. “Did you fuck yourself with your fingers first – slick and hot until you moaned for more?”

“What do you care,” Eames gasps, even though his hips tilt forward, brushing against the length of Arthur’s rapidly hardening cock.

Arthur raises a hand to comb through Eames’ hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck while nipping his at his stubbled jaw. “I care,” he breathes, “and so do you.”

Eames’ hands shift down to palm at Arthur’s ass, finally going loose and pliant against him. “You’re a fickle son of a bitch,” Eames says, and Arthur feels a slap to his ass, hard and abrupt. It makes him, unfathomably, groan and grind against Eames’ thigh, seeking out the heat of Eames’ erection through the loose dress pants.

“Ah. I, uh. Yeah.”

Eames laughs softly and pulls him closer, slowing the pace of their hips to a sensual, impossibly slow grind. “And you’re easy, apparently. _Fuck_ , Arthur, how I’ve wanted you,”

“Didn’t know,” Arthur mumbles against his cheek, as if on automatic, turning his head slightly to finally fit their mouths together. Eames opens beneath him immediately, hot and wet, their tongues sliding and searching and Eames suckling hard, making Arthur moan loudly in the quiet din of the bathroom. They break apart, panting. Arthur kicks Eames’ thighs apart with his leg, runs his hands down Eames’ sides to curve against his ass. He trails both index fingers along the round cheeks, moving to crease along the cleft. “Did you think of me?”

“Arrrthhur,” Eames groans, surging back against him and then snapping his hips forward again. Arthur buries his face in Eames’ neck, mouthing at roughened skin and sucking light enough to not leave marks.

“Did you imagine me fucking you into the mattress, owning you?”

“Christ, yes. More, though. Was so fucking angry. Wanted to grind myself on you, clench around you and make you scream. And then. Then have you -- oh fuck, take me.”

Arthur’s slipped one finger beneath the fabric now, dipping below Eames’ briefs and running the tip of his finger across the swell of his ass, teasing the entrance. For the first time he’s actually grateful Eames wears clothes that are entirely too big for him.

Eames gasps at the first touch. “You still fucked open, baby?’

Eames gasps as Arthur slips his finger in just drop and then starts shaking with laughter. “ _Baby_?”

Arthur lets his fingernail drag along his the outside of his hole, causing Eames to hiss. “Didn’t realize you had the monopoly on endearments,” Arthur says, without heat. “And you still haven’t answered me.”

“Yeah,” Eames pants. “Fucked myself good and hard. Still aches.” Arthur’s cock jerks. He shifts his finger out to lick, but is stopped by Eames. Arthur’s breath stutters as he watches Eames suck him in slowly, looking at him through his impossibly long lashes, eyes lowered and teasing. Arthur indulges him until he can no longer breathe. He immediately returns his fingers and shoves two inside, holding Eames against the wall and trapping his own arm against it.

Eames arches upward and Arthur’s fingers slide deeper, crooking slightly. He feels incredible, gloriously hot and wanton when he clenches around Arthur as if on cue. His hand is on Arthur’s ass, palming absently and he’s plastered up against Arthur’s chest, face hooked against Arthur’s neck. Eames pants against his ear, worrying at the lobe and making Arthur hiss. “God, I want to fuck you,” Arthur says. ‘Want to take you apart with my fingers and tongue … maybe I’ll use your toy on you … tease you, get you ready and then I’ll slide into your easily and you’ll wrap those fucking thighs around me, oh my god, _Eames_.”

“A-Artthurr,” Eames is shaking in his arms, his breathing having hitched throughout Arthur’s litany until he was whimpering with need. Their hips keep moving and then Arthur finds Eames’ prostate, feels him clench and jerk helplessly as he comes, mouth wet against Arthur’s neck, broken sobs spilling from his lips. Arthur’s still fucking Eames with his fingers when he comes himself, a blinding rush of white heat that makes his head spin and his thighs tremble.

They rest in a loose embrace against the walls, kissing languidly, sated, until Eames groans against him, jestering to his pants. “You arse, how are we supposed to work now?”

Arthur bites at the corner of his mouth. “You forget I’m kinda in charge of jobs now, double duty and all…” He pauses, waiting for the inevitable argument that always comes from pulling rank. But instead, Eames just watches him with eager eyes. “.. and therefore I say you and I deserve a day off. Effective immediately.”

Eames slaps his ass, and grins, “Whatever you say, boss.”

Arthur shivers in pleasure and thinks maybe, just maybe, he’ll re-evaluate his opinion on bottoming.

[end]


End file.
